


Working with Clowns

by cornerandchair



Category: What's the Frequency? (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-typical snark, Gen, Pre-Canon, Referenced violence, implied emetophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28153956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornerandchair/pseuds/cornerandchair
Summary: As most children do, Whitney dreamed  of running away and joining the circus.But why would she do that when she already works with the biggest Clown of them all?
Relationships: Walter Mix & Whitney, Whitney/Banana Splits





	Working with Clowns

Whitney busied herself cleaning the office, the radio tuned to a jazzy little number she could dance to while ignoring the fact four hours had passed since Troubles went to a “business” meeting that was only supposed to take an hour at most.

No doubt he’d waltz in at 10 PM with a split lip and half-cracked neck. He’d laugh about how rough business was these days, drink half a glass of bourbon and then pass out on the couch like the truly dignified detective he was. She’d end up making sure none of his injuries were immediately deadly, and then call Lillian to see if she could fit the bastard in.

She could already feel the headache—

BAM! “I’m back!” Walter Mix slammed the door open, nearly taking the poor thing off its hinges.

“Christ! Troubles, what… I wasn’t expecting you back for at least another two hours.” Hands planted on her hips, Whitney did a cursory examination of his appearance. Not even a single bruise, his tie was still in place, hair thoroughly un-roughed… He seemed in perfect health.

He laughed, “T- two hours? I thought I told you to call Barton if two went by?” He stumbled in, not even shutting the door behind him. “Reeeally Whit, you should care more about my health.”

Ah, He was absolutely soused. She sighed deeply, taking quick strides to shut and lock the door, they were going to be closed for the rest of the day anyway. “You’re like the worst kind of cat sometimes, you know?” she chided, ushering the drunk man to the couch.

“But I didn’t come back half dead this time!” he laughed. “That counts for something, yes?” A lopsided grin. He reeked of swill.

Whitney massaged her temples, “I’d rather you half dead than all drunk.” She grabbed a blanket from the closed and chucked it at his head. “I hope you suffocate on it.” Despite the harsh words, there was a genuine playfulness behind them. As much trouble as Troubles caused, he was the closest thing she had to family.

And he didn’t charge rent. She sighed and flicked the radio off, he’d be asleep soon, and no doubt there would be more mess in the morning to clean up so it was no use finishing the work tonight. She fell into bed herself not long after.

The peaceful night passed, only to be broken by the most pitiful cries in the morning.

“Whiiiit. Whinteeeeeeey. Heeeeelp.”

“Maybe I should run away and live with Lillian…” She mused before shaking the covers off and sliding out to the kitchen.

“Whit, medicine, pleaaaase.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” She poured a glass of water and collected pills to curb the massive hangover he no doubt had. She carried them out and handed them to the writing mass on the couch. “Drink slowly,” she commanded, “else you’ll only get more sick.”

She cast a glance to floor, as expected, there was more mess to clean up. How annoying.

She turned to get a towel, but Walter grabbed her wrist.

“Wait. Wait, there’s something important I need you to do today.”

She glanced back at him. “What? I’ve got to clean that mess of the floor or the whole office will smell.”

“I’ve an appointment later, with a snitch from the Miceli’s. I set it up last night. I need you to go in my place.” He gave her the most pitiful look.

But she wasn’t daft. “Are you sending me in your place… to something that you know will be a trap?”

“What? Whitney, I’m offended you think so lowly of me. I would never knowingly do that to you.”

“So you just think it’s a trap.”

He pulled his hand back, a brief flicker of guilt crossed his face.

She sighed, “Fine… but you owe me two banana splits when I get back.” Whitney shook her head and went about finishing the cleaning.

Before leaving she left another glass of water, a bucket, and some toast that she hoped would grow cold and chewy before he thought to eat them. “Don’t forget. Two banana splits.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you so much, Whit.”

Hours later Whitney returns home, bruised, beaten, and utterly pissed.

“I am going to run away! I’m going to run away and join the circus! At least then the clowns I work with will actually be doing their jobs!”

Walter glanced up from the paper, “I feel like I’m supposed to be insulted.”

She let out a snort. “You are! You absolutely are! That man wasn’t even from the Miceli’s! He was a grunt of a grunt, he had no useful information, and was literally only there to kill you.” She stormed over to the desk and slammed her hands on it. “Speaking of! You seem to be doing quite well for someone who was so ill this morning he couldn’t even get up from the couch!”

Walter took a slow sip from a mug of coffee.

“Shall I get you four Banana splits, then?”

Walter Mix, the utter clown that he was, nearly met a violent end right there, in his very own office.


End file.
